


I'm Right Here

by Elliott-Writes (Elliott_Fletcher)



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Established Relationship, First Time, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Romantic Fluff, So much kissing, Trans Male Character, Trans Mizutani, healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 04:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10403478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elliott_Fletcher/pseuds/Elliott-Writes
Summary: One year of seniority means little when the entire school knows you protect Mizutani Fumiki.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My mind told me to write fluffy boys in love so I did. My heart told me to make Mizutani trans (I didn't question it). Writes 2k+ of romantic fluff . . . I need to stop being ruled by my emotions. Special thanks to my beta and darling @blackcricket for reading this even though it's gushy and kissy.
> 
> tw for implied transphobia and underage sex
> 
> Though they are both sixteen (second years in this) and in love and informed. They know what they're getting into.
> 
> Please enjoy!

Izumi knocks on the door; it is an ugly red that clashes with the green siding. _Like Christmas_ , he thinks. The door opens a hands-width. Through the gap, red hair falls low into a face, and a single green eye watches him. _Like Christmas_.

Izumi nods to the worn, treaden road. Wearily, Mizutani steps outside. They walk down the street, stepping carefully through thin ice and thick snow. Mizutani relaxes at his side, kicks a chunk of ice into the ditch, before opening his mouth. Izumi rolls his eyes emphatically, and Mizutani huffs in response before saying, unfazed, "I slept like _bleh_." He then describes in full detail what aches, what feels numb, and what he would give to breathe through both nostrils.

Izumi says, "Shouldn't you be wearing a mask then? You're a walking germ. . . . "

Mizutani smiles. His gums are receding, and his canines are crooked. It is a beautiful smile. "My plan is to infect everyone so they'll be too sick to trip me in the hall." He clenches his fists in front of his chest, and his smile turns devious. "If that doesn't work, I'll just have to murder them in cold blood."

"You're an odd one," Izumi says. "You could never pull it off."

Mizutani deflates. "You're right," he admits. Izumi holds his hand to cheer him up. They let go when they turn onto the busier road, their school looming on the next corner, only two turns away. They step into the crowd of uniforms, and Izumi notices the hand fisted at the collar of his jacket but does not say a word. He never does.

He steals a kiss before class, ducked behind a corner. Their mouths are warm and papery, and the echoes of sneakers on linoleum keep them chaste. They promise _later_ , their breaths in each other's mouths. Izumi nods, and Mizutani winks. Izumi whacks his the back of his head and sends him off with a muttered, "Kick their asses." Mizutani walks away masking his laughter.

 

Izumi does not see him again until third period. His face is framed by the rectangular window in the classroom door. Izumi only notices him when he looks up to scan the blackboard, and, immediately, he asks to be excused. The teacher warns him to return swiftly or face her wrath, and he exits the classroom in a hurried run.

"What is it?" Izumi asks. Mizutani grabs his arm; his fingers are cold.

He says, "Bathroom," but it is less sound to hear and more lips to read.

Mizutani walks purposefully, his footfalls trained into silence. Izumi lengthens his own strides to match his pace. They pass the closest bathroom in favour of the one beside Freshman's Chemistry Lab. It is mostly deserted for reasons such as: it always smells faintly of iodine; the sink basins and the toilet bowls are stained blue; there is never any paper towel; and the urinals are cracked. They bypass all of them completely.

Mizutani disappears in the stall closest to the door. "Are you gonna be long?" Izumi asks. He gravitates to the sinks and stares at his smudged reflection in the mirror.

"Shouldn't be," Mizutani says. "Cramp Hell was last week."

Izumi worries at the pimples on his face (he thinks he would be quite vain if not for his acne). He pinches the chub of his cheeks and pulls. He says, "I know." It comes out warbled. He lifts his bangs to find a colony of red bumps. He looks like a small-pox victim, with all the scars.

Mizutani says, "Stop popping them. It only makes it worse." Izumi imitates him soundlessly for his reflection's amusement. He falters when he hears the trickle of urine into the toilet bowl.

He says, loudly, so he can ignore the sound, "Easy for you to say." It is not exactly true, though. Certainly, Mizutani does not have acne as bad as Izumi — no one ever has — but he has had his fair share over the years. Izumi cups water from the tap and splashes his face. "You almost done?" He wipes the water dripping from his chin on the black sleeve of his uniform. The lunch bell rings, faint. He shuts the tap off with his wrist.

"Almost," Mizutani says.

The bathroom door opens. It is a freshman — one of the tall ones. He makes Izumi feel like a dwarf, which is not necessarily a great feat considering his _remarkable_ height of five-four — even _Mizutani_ is taller than him. Regardless, Izumi blinks droplets from his eyes and slides in front of Mizutani's stall, a guard. When the freshman stares, he does not lower his chin. One year of seniority means little when the entire school knows you protect _Mizutani Fumiki_.

The stall door pushes forward into his back. He holds it closed, and Mizutani stops pushing. Izumi glares up at the freshman. He glares right back, body unmoving from where it blocks the exit.

"He's human, too," Izumi says. "We all are. Everyone except bigots." He adds, less confident, "Let us pass."

The freshman pauses — in what way, Izumi does not know. He stops glaring and glances between the openness of Izumi's eyes and the pale green door he guards. He says in a voice that has not cracked yet, "There's a group waiting outside class three. Take . . . uh, _him_ the other way around." He slides out of place, approaching the only intact urinal.

Izumi nods to him, though his gesture goes unseen. He lets Mizutani out of the stall and slings an arm around his shoulders, bringing him close.

Mizutani tells the freshman, "Thank you."

They take the other way around.

 

After the final bell rings, Izumi walks to Mizutani's classroom. He helps him pick up the hand-written note cards scattered across the floor, and by the time they have righted his belongings, the hallways are abandoned.

"Same girl?" Izumi asks. Mizutani nods, and his hand is clammy when it finds Izumi's.

They unbutton their collars as they exit the school, and the winter breeze bites at their necks. They descend the stone steps, slipping on patches of ice and catching each other. Mizutani's palm warms, though his knuckles are chilled where Izumi cannot cover them. The sun brushes their faces when it sets too early. They walk to Izumi's house because his parents are at a wedding for the weekend and his brother's co-op runs late on Fridays.

When they close the front door behind them, it is very dark, and they are very, very alone. The thought thrums in Izumi's throat like it has wings. Mizutani suffers from the same anticipation, though his is clouded by anxiety. He says, "Sorry to intrude!" and forgets to take his shoes off at the door. He runs back to rip them off his feet, hopping about. Izumi laughs quietly and walks off to his bedroom without a word.

"You're, uh, a bad host," Mizutani complains. "You should have given me, uh, a drink or something." Izumi is not sure if he is stalling or stuttering. He throws him a playful glare and offers a hand when he enters the room. Mizutani takes it, squeezing too tightly. Izumi lets go only to tangle their fingers again.

Izumi says, "Do you wanna lie down?" They lock eyes and hold on as long as possible. It is not enough.

Mizutani nods, letting go of his hand to remove his uniform jacket. Izumi does the same, stripping, exchanging his trousers for basketball shorts, his dress shirt for an old jersey. He hears the bed springs creak and tosses a t-shirt in the same direction as the sound. Mizutani catches it and slips into it so fluidly, Izumi barely has a chance to blink. He tosses another pair of shorts, and they hit him square in the face.

Mizutani pulls them on, noticing Izumi's contemplative expression. He answers the question never asked: "Years of practice from gym." Izumi nods solemnly, and he joins him on the bed.

Izumi presses his open hand into the crest of Mizutani's collarbone, the heel of his palm resting on his heartbeat. Slowly, Mizutani lies down with the touch. He smiles when Izumi lifts his head to place a pillow beneath it. His hand lingers on Mizutani's neck, and his fingers brush like whispering wind, light but constant. Mizutani turns his head to kiss his wrist.

Izumi says, "We have until eleven. . . . We don't have to . . . " He puffs out his cheeks, squinting as he tries to find the words. "You know . . . _it all_."

Mizutani shakes his head, and he says, "I want to. If you still want to — uh, _heh_ . . . " He gives up on words and rubs his face with a hand. Izumi strokes his cheek. It is too fond, and it only truly feels like Izumi's touch when he sees his blue eyes flare and feels the bite at his jaw. Izumi mouths hot into his neck, his lips brushing but not sucking. His tongue sweeps the underside of his jaw. Mizutani grabs both of his cheeks and says in a rush, "Can I please?"

"Please what?"

He swallows. "Our shirts." Izumi looks him in the eye. _Our_ , as in _Both_ , as in _Mine, too_. He cannot stop himself from pressing another feverish kiss to Mizutani's neck.

"Sure," He pulls his own over his head. Mizutani sits up and removes his own, and then he maneuvers an arm out of his binder.

"Pull it up," Mizutani mumbles. Izumi works the binder up and up, revealing chaffed, pink skin. He forces himself to look a Mizutani's face instead of the skin he reveals. Mizutani leans into Izumi's breath and steals a kiss from him. The binder — eventually, reluctantly — pulls over his head. "I'm a boy," Mizutani whispers to himself. He says it again, like a chant, and then three more times.

"No," Izumi says. "You're sixteen. You're a man." They share a smile for a flickering moment, and Izumi breaks away to kiss the centre of his chest. He kisses, and he sucks, and he kisses, and he kisses, and Mizutani giggles. He holds Izumi's head and kisses it, giggling with each ticklish brush Izumi layers on him.

Mizutani pushes him away after a while, sitting up. He says, "My nose," in a thick voice. "Also, I really wanna touch you." Izumi opens his arms wide to say _I'm right here_. Mizutani brushes his fingertips over his collarbone, rubbing tenderly at the scar Izumi had nearly forgotten. His hand slides, fingers-palm, to the nape of his neck. With that touch, he guides Izumi down. He admits, "I don't think I . . . could bottom."

"Then let's just . . . no . . . _penetration_ ," He says clumsily. He hates how that word sounds. "That's still pretty far." Izumi tugs the pillow under his shoulders, tugs Mizutani down on his chest. Their heartbeats pound into each other, and Mizutani lays all his weight on him. Izumi takes a deep breath. Their calves slide together, bumpy and warm. Izumi wraps his arms around his waist just to see how it feels, and he drags his thumb along his stomach where it presses into his. He dips it under the waistband and sweeps the other way.

"Off," Mizutani breathes into his mouth. Izumi hooks his thumb and pulls. His thighs are warm when his palms smooth over them. His skin prickles as Mizutani works his shorts to his knees. When he leans back into him, they press together; the pressure taunts and pleases, brushes and retreats until Mizutani falls back on him. They kiss any skin they can find, sucking and nibbling until a patch is bruised. They lick and kiss softer, and when their mouths touch, it is needy. They press quick then press again, licking tongues softly at the insides of their cheeks.

They kiss every moment of it, and when all the moments are over, they lay silent, still kissing. With the feel of Mizutani pressed close to him, he decides he never wants their moments to end. Mizutani, lax and mumbling, kisses him, and Izumi knows he feels the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm new to writing such intimate scenes, so any tips and I would be eternally grateful. Just drop a comment!


End file.
